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A TALE OF ACADIE 



BY 



HENRY WADSWOETH LONGFELLOW 



RIVERSIDE 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

1900 



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COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY 

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CONTENTS 



PAGE 

INTRODUCTORY NOTE. By H. E. Scuddek . vii 

HISTORICAL SKETCH. By H. E. Scuddek . xx 

EVANGELINE 

Prelude 1 

Part, the First 2 

Part the Second 43 

NOTES 91 



INTEODUCTOEY NOTE 



IN Hawthorne's American Note-Books is the fol- 
lowing passage : — 
/"H. L. C. heard from a French Canadian a 
story of a young couple in Acadie. On their 
marriage day all the men of the Province were 
summoned to assemble in the church to hear a 
proclamation. When assembled, they were all 
seized and shipped off to be distributed through 
New England, — among them the new bride- 
groom. His bride set off in search of him — 
wandered about New England all her lifetime, 
and at last when she was old, she found her 
bridegroom on his death-bed. The shock was so 
great that it killed her likewise." 

This is the story, as set down by the ro- 
mancer, which his friend, the Rev. H. L. Conolly, 
had heard from a parishioner. Mr. Conolly saw 
in it a fine theme for a romance, but for some 
reason Hawthorne was disinclined to undertake it. 
One day the two were dining with Mr. Longfel- 
low, and Mr. Conolly told the story again and 
wondered that Hawthorne did not care for it. 
" If you really do not want this incident for a 
tale," said Mr. Longfellow to his friend, " let me 
have it for a poem." Just when the conversation 
took place we cannot say, but the poem was begun 



viii INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

apparently just after the completion of the vol- 
ume, The Belfry of Bruges and other Poems. The 
narrative of its development can best be told by 
the passages in Mr. Longfellow's diary which note 
the progress of the poem. 

November 28, 1845. Set about Gabrielle, my 
idyll in hexameters, in earnest. I do not mean to 
let a day go by without adding something to it, if 
it be but a single line. F. and Sumner are both 
doubtful of the measure. To me it seems the only 
one for such a poem. 

November 30. In the night, rain, rain, rain. 
A pleasant sound. Lying awake I mused thus : — 

Pleasant it is to hear the sound of the rattling rain upon 

the roof, 
Ceaselessly falling through the night from the clouds that 

pass so far aloof ; 
Pleasant it is to hear the sound of the village clock that 

strikes the hour, 
Dropping its notes like drops of rain from the darksome 

belfry in the tower. 

December 7. I know not what name to give 
to — not my new baby, but my new poem. Shall it 
be Gabrielle, or Celestine, or Evangeline ? 

January 8, 1846. Striving, but alas, how 
vainly ! to work upon Evangeline. One interrup- 
tion after another, till I long to fly to the desert for 
a season. 

January 12. The vacation is at hand. I hope 
before its close to get far on in Evangeline. Two 
cantos are now done ; which is a good beginning. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE ix 

April 5. After a month's cessation resumed 
Evangeline, — the sister of mercy. I hope now to 
carry it on to its close without break. 

May 20. Tried to work at Evangeline. Unsuc- 
cessful. Gave it up. 

May 25. The days die and make no sign. The 
Castalian fount is still. It has become a pool 
which no descending angel troubles. 

July 9. Idly busy days ; days which leave no 
record in verse ; no advance made in my long- 
neglected yet dearly loved Evangeline. The cares 
of the world choke the good seed. But these stones 
must be cleared away. 

October 11. I am in despair at the swift flight of 
time, and the utter impossibility I feel to lay hold 
upon anything permanent. All my hours and days 
go on to perishable things. College takes half the 
time ; and other people, with their interminable let- 
ters and poems and requests and demands, take the 
rest. I have hardly a moment to think of my own 
writings, and am cheated of some of life's fairest 
hours. This is the extreme of folly ; and if I knew 
a man, far off in some foreign land, doing as I do 
here, I should say he was mad. 

November 17. I said as I dressed myself this 
morning, "To-day at least I will work on Evange- 
line." But no sooner had I breakfasted than there 

came a note from , to be answered forthwith; 

then -, to talk about a doctor; then Mr. Bates 

to put up a fireplace ; then this journal, to be writ- 
ten for a week. And now it is past eleven o'clock, 
and the sun shines so brightly upon my desk and 
papers that I can write no more. 



x INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

December 10. Laid up with a cold. Moped and 
mowed the day through. Made an effort, however, 
and commenced the second part of Evangeline. I 
felt all day wretched enough to give it the sombre 
tone of coloring that belongs to the theme. 

December 15. Stayed at home, working a little 
on Evangeline; planning out the second part, 
which fascinates me, — if I can but give complete 
tone and expression to it. Of materials for this 
part there is superabundance. The difficulty is to 
select, and give unity to variety. 

December 17. Finished this morning, and 
copied, the first canto of the second part of 
Evangeline. The portions of the poem which I 
write in the morning, I write chiefly standing at 
my desk here [by the window], so as to need no 
copying. What I write at other times is scrawled 
with a pencil on my knee in the dark, and has to be 
written out afterward. This way of writing with 
a pencil and portfolio I enjoy much ; as I can 
sit by the fireside and do not use my eyes. I see 
a diorama of the Mississippi advertised. This 
comes very a propos. The river comes to me in- 
stead of my going to the river ; and as it is to flow 
through the pages of the poem, I look upon this as 
a special benediction. 

December 19. Went to see Banvard's moving 
diorama of the Mississippi. One seems to be 
sailing down the great stream, and sees the boats 
and the sand-banks crested with cottonwood, and 
the bayous by moonlight. Three miles of canvas, 
and a great deal of merit. 

December 29. I hoped to do much on my poem 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE xi 

to-day; and did nothing. My whole morning was 
taken up with letters and doing up New Year's 
gifts. 

January 7, 1847. Went to the Library and got 
Watson's Annals of Philadelphia and the Historical 
Collections of Pennsylvania ; also Darby's Geograph- 
ical Description of Louisiana. These books must help 
me through the last part of Evangeline, so far as 
facts and local coloring go. But for the form and 
the poetry, — they must come from my own brain. 

January 14. Finished the last canto of Evange- 
line. But the poem is not finished. There are 
three intermediate cantos to be written. 

January 18. Billings came to hear some pas- 
sages in Evangeline, previous to making designs. 
As I read,, I grew discouraged. Alas, how difficult 
it is to produce anything really good ! Now I see 
nothing but the defects of my work. I hope the 
critics will not find so many as I do. But onward ! 
The poem, like love, must " advance or die." 

January 22. Wrote in Evangeline. Then walked 
a couple of hours. After dinner, a couple more. 
In the evening, the whist club. 

January 23. Morning as yesterday, — sitting by 
the fire in a darkened room, writing with a pencil 
in my portfolio, without the use of eyes. 

January 26. Finished second canto of Part II. of 
Evangeline. 

February 1. During the day worked busily and 
pleasantly on Evangeline, — canto third of Part II. 
It is nearly finished. 

February 2. Shrouded in a cold, which covers 
me like a monk's hood. I am confident it is often 



xii INTKODUCTORY NOTE 

sheer laziness, when a poet refrains from writing 
because he is not " in the mood." Until he begins 
he can hardly know whether he is in the mood or 
not. It is reluctance to the manual labor of record- 
ing one's thoughts ; perhaps to the mental labor of 
setting them in due order. 

February 17. Find the ground covered with 
snow, to my sorrow ; for what comes as snow 
departs as mud. Wrote description of the prairies 
for Evangeline. 

February 23. Evangeline is nearly finished. I 
shall complete it this week, together with my for- 
tieth year. 

February 27. Evangeline is ended. I wrote the 
last lines this morning. 

February 28. The last day of February. 
Waded to church through snow and water ankle- 
deep. The remainder of the day, was warmly 
housed, save a walk on the piazza. When evening 
came, I really missed the poem and the pencil. 

March 6. A lovely spring morning. I began to 
revise and correct Evangeline for the press. Went 
carefully over the first canto. 

April 3. The first canto of Evangeline in proofs. 
Some of the lines need pounding; nails are to be 
driven and clenched. On the whole I am pretty 
well satisfied. Fields came out in the afternoon. 
I told him of the poem, and he wants to publish it. 

April 9. Proof-sheets of Evangeline all tattooed 
with Folsom's 1 marks. How severe he is! But 
so much the better. 

1 Longfellow's friend, Mr. Charles Folsom, was then 
proofreader at the printing-office where the book was set up. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE xiii 

Evangeline was published October 30, 1847, and 
Hawthorne, who had taken a lively interest in th^ 
poem, wrote a few days after, to say that he had 
read it " with more pleasure than it would be 
decorous to express." Mr. Longfellow, in reply- 
ing, thanked him for a friendly notice which he 
had written for a Salem paper, and added : " Still 
more do I thank you for resigning to me that 
legend of Acady. This success I owe entirely to 
you, for being willing to forego the pleasure of 
writing a prose tale which many people would 
have taken for poetry, that I might write a poem 
which many people take for prose." 

The notes which we have taken from Mr. Long- 
fellow's diary intimate, in a degree, the method of 
his preparation for writing the poem. He was 
not writing a history nor a book of travels. He 
drew upon the nearest, most accessible materials, 
which at that time were to be found in Halibur- 
ton's A n Historical and Statistical A ccount of Nora 
Scotia, with its liberal quotations from the Abbe 
Raynal's emotional account of the French settlers. 
He may have examined Winslow's narrative of 
the expedition under his command, in the cabinet 
of the Massachusetts Historical Society, not then 
printed, but since that time made easily access- 
ible. He did not visit Grand Pre nor the Mis- 
sissippi, but trusted to descriptions and Banvard's 
diorama. At the time of the publication of Evan- 
geline the actual history of the deportation of the 
Acadians had scarcely been investigated. It is 
not too much to say that this tale was itself the 



xiv INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

cause of the frequent studies since made, studies 
which have resulted in a revision of the accepted 
rendering of the facts. The publication by the 
government of Nova Scotia in 1869 of Selections 
from the Public Documents of the Province of Nova 
Scotia, edited by Thomas B. Akins, D. C. L., 
Commissioner of Public Records, threw a great 
deal of light on the relations of the French and 
English ; A History of Nova Scotia, or A cadie, by 
Beamish Murdock, published in 1866, and The 
History of Acadia from the First Discovery to its 
Surrender to England by the Treaty of Paris, by 
James Hannay, published in 1879, furnish oppor- 
tunities for an examination of the subject ; and 
since then the work by Dr. Francis Parkman on 
Montcalm and Wolfe gives special attention to the 
expulsion of the Acadians. Dr. W. J. Anderson 
published a paper in the Transactions of the Lit- 
erary and Historical Society of Quebec, New 
Series, part vii., 1870, entitled Evangeline and the 
Archives of Nova Scotia, in which he examines the 
poem in the light of Mr. Akins's work, finding, 
after all, a substantial agreement between the 
poem and the documents. 

Mr. Longfellow gave to a Philadelphia journal- 
ist a reminiscence of his first notice of the ma- 
terial which was used in the conclusion of the 
poem: — "I was passing down Spruce Street one 
day toward my hotel, after a walk, when my 
attention was attracted to a large building with 
beautiful trees about it, inside of a high en- 
closure. 1 I walked along until I came to the 
1 The Pennsylvania Hospital. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE xv 

great gate, and then stepped inside, and looked 
carefully over the place. The charming picture 
of lawn, flower-beds, and shade which it presented 
made an impression which has never left me, and 
when I came to write Evangeline I placed the 
final scene, the meeting between Evangeline and 
Gabriel, and the death, at the poor-house, and the 
burial in an old Catholic graveyard not far away, 
which I found by chance in another of my walks." 
It will have been noticed that Mr. Longfellow 
from the outset had no hesitation in the choice of 
a metre. He had before experimented in it in his 
translation of The Children of the Lord's Supper, 
and in his lines To the Driving Cloud. While 
engaged upon Evangeline he chanced upon a spe- 
cimen in Blackwood of a hexameter translation 
of the 'Iliad,' and expressed himself very em- 
phatically on its fitness. " Took down Chapman's 
Homer" he writes later, "and read the second 
book. Rough enough ; and though better than 
Pope, how inferior to the books in hexameter in 
Blackwood ! The English world is not yet awake 
to the beauty of that metre." After his poem 
was published, he wrote : " The public takes more 
kindly to hexameters than I could have ima- 
gined," and referring to a criticism on Evangeline 
by Mr. Felton, in which the metre was considered, 
he said: "I am more than ever glad that I chose 
this metre for my poem." Again he notes 
in his diary : " Talked with Theophilus Parsons 
about English hexameters ; and < almost persuaded 
him to be a Christian.'" While his mind was 



xvi INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

thus dwelling on the subject, he fell into the 
measure in his journal entries, and in these lines 
under date of December 18, 1847. 

Soft through the silent air descend the feathery snow- 
flakes ; 

White are the distant hills, white are the neighboring 
fields ; 

Only the marshes are brown, and the river rolling 
among them 

Weareth the leaden hue seen in the eyes of the blind. 

Especially interesting is the experiment which 
he made, while in the process of his work, in an- 
other metre. " Finished second canto of Part II. 
of Evangeline. I then tried a passage of it in the 
common rhymed English pentameter. It is the 
song of the mocking-bird : — 

Upon a spray that overhung the stream, 
The mocking-bird, awaking from his dream, 
Poured such delirious music from his throat 
That all the air seemed listening to his note. 
Plaintive at first the song began, and slow ; 
It breathed of sadness, and of pain and woe ; 
Then, gathering all his notes, abroad he flung 
The multitudinous music from his tongue, — 
As, after showers, a sudden gust again 
Upon the leaves shakes down the rattling rain." 

As the story of Evangeline was the incentive to 
historical inquiry, so the successful use of the hex- 
ameter had much to do both with the revival of 
the measure and with a critical discussion upon 
its value. Arthur Hugh Clough employed the 
metre in his pastoral poem, The Bothie of Toper- 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE xvii 

na-Vuolich, and wrote to Mr. Emerson: "Will 
you convey to Mr. Longfellow the fact that it was 
a reading of his Evangeline aloud to my mother 
and sister, which, coming after a reperusal of the 
1 Iliad,' occasioned this outbreak of hexameters ? " 

The reader will find the subject of hexameters 
discussed by Matthew Arnold in his lectures On 
Translating Homer; by James Spedding in Eng- 
lish Hexameters, in his volume Reviews and Dis- 
cussions, Literary, Political, and Historical, not re- 
lating to Bacon; and by John Stuart Blackie in 
Remarks on English Hexameters contained in his 
volume Horce Hellenicce. 

" Of the longer poems of our chief singer," says 
Dr. Holmes, " I should not hesitate to select 
Evangeline as the masterpiece, and I think the 
general verdict of opinion would confirm my 
choice. The German model which it follows in 
its measure and the character of its story was it- 
self suggested by an earlier idyl. If Dorothea 
was the mother of Evangeline, Luise was the 
mother of Dorothea. And what a beautiful crea- 
tion is the Acadian maiden ! From the first line 
of the poem, from its first words, we read as we 
would float down a broad and placid river, mur- 
muring softly against its banks, heaven over it, 
and the glory of the unspoiled wilderness all 
around, — 

This is the forest primeval. 

The words are already as familiar as 

Mrjvw #ei5e, 6ed 9 



xviii INTRODUCTORY NOTE 

or 

Arma virumque cano. 

The hexameter has been often criticised, but I do 
not believe any other measure could have told 
that lovely story with such effect, as we feel when 
carried along the tranquil current of these brim- 
ming, slow-moving, soul-satisfying lines. Imagine 
for one moment a story like this minced into octo- 
syllabics. The poet knows better than his critics 
the length of step which best befits his muse." 

The measure lends itself easily to the lingering 
melancholy which marks the greater part of the 
poem, and the poet's fine sense of harmony be- 
tween subject and form is rarely better shown than 
in this poem. The fall of the verse at the end of 
the line and the sharp recovery at the beginning 
of the next are snares, it is true, to the unwary 
reader ; the voice naturally seeks a rest in the mid- 
dle of the line, and this rest, or csesural pause, has 
to be carefully regarded ; but a little practice will 
enable one to acquire that habit of reading the 
hexameter, which we may liken, roughly, to the 
climbing of a hill, resting a moment on the sum- 
mit, and then descending the other side. The 
charm in reading Evangeline aloud, after a clear 
understanding of the sense, which is the essential 
in all good reading, is found in this gentle labor of 
the former half of the line, and gentle acceleration 
of the latter half. 

The publication of Evangeline doubtless marks 
the period of Mr. Longfellow's greatest accession 
of fame, as it probably is the poem which the ma- 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE xix 

jority of readers would first name if called upon to 
indicate the poet's most commanding work. It 
was finished, as we have seen, upon his fortieth 
birthday. Two days before, the following lines 
were written by Mr. Longfellow in his diary : — 

Epigramme 

Par un ci-devant jeune homme, en approchant de la quaran- 
tine. 

u Sous le firmament 
Tout n'est que changement, 

Tout passe ; " 
Le cantique le dit, 
II est ainsi ecrit, 
D est sans contredit, 

Tout passe. 

O douce vie humaine ! 

O temps qui nous entraine ! 

Destinee souveraine ! 

Tout change. 
Moi qui, poete reveur, 
Ne f us jamais friseur, *> 
Je frise, — oh, quelle horreur ! 

La quarantaine ! 



HISTOKICAL BASIS OF THE POEM 



THE country now known as Nova Scotia, and 
called formerly Acadie by the French, was in 
the hands of the French and English by turns until 
the year 1713, when, by the Peace of Utrecht, it 
was ceded by France to Great Britain, and has 
ever since remained in the possession of the Eng- 
lish. But in 1713 the inhabitants of the peninsula 
were mostly French farmers and fishermen, living 
about Minas Basin and on Annapolis River, and 
the English government exercised only a nominal 
control over them. It was not till 1749 that the 
English themselves began to make settlements in 
the country, and that year they laid the founda- 
tions of the town of Halifax. A jealousy soon 
sprang up between the English and French set- 
tlers, which was deepened by the great conflict 
which was impending between the two mother 
countries ; for the treaty of peace at Aix-la-Cha- 
pelle in 1748, which confirmed the English title 
to Nova Scotia, was scarcely more than a truce 
between the two powers which had been strug- 
gling for ascendency since the beginning of the 
century. The French engaged in a long contro- 
versy with the English respecting the boundaries 
of Acadie, which had been defined by the treaties 
in somewhat general terms, and intrigues were 
carried on with the Indians, who were generally 



HISTOKICAL BASIS OF POEM xxi 

in sympathy with the Trench, for the annoyance 
of the English settlers. The Acadians were allied 
to the French by blood and by religion, but they 
claimed to have the rights of neutrals, and that 
these rights had been granted to them by previous 
English officers of the crown. The one point of 
special dispute was the oath of allegiance de- 
manded of the Acadians by the English. This 
they refused to take, except in a form modified to 
excuse them from bearing arms against the 
French. The demand was repeatedly made, and 
evaded with constant ingenuity and persistency. 
Most of the Acadians were probably simple- 
minded and peaceful people, who desired only to 
live undisturbed upon their farms; but there 
were some restless spirits, especially among the 
young men, who compromised the reputation of 
the community, and all were very much under 
the influence of their priests, some of whom made 
no secret of their bitter hostility to the English, 
and of their determination to use every means 
to be rid of them. 

As the English interests grew and the critical 
relations between the two countries approached 
open warfare, the question of how to deal with the 
Acadian problem became the commanding one of 
the colony. There were some who coveted the 
rich farms of the Acadians ; there were some who 
were inspired by religious hatred ; but the pre- 
vailing spirit was one of fear for themselves from 
the near presence of a community which, calling 
itself neutral, might at any time offer a convene 



xxii HISTORICAL BASIS OF POEM 

ient ground for hostile attack. Yet to require 
these people to withdraw to Canada or Louisburg 
would be to strengthen the hands of the French, 
and make these neutrals determined enemies. 
The colony finally resolved, without consulting 
the home government, to remove the Acadians to 
other parts of North America, distributing them 
through the colonies in such a way as to preclude 
any concert amongst the scattered families by 
which they should return to Acadia. To do this 
required quick and secret preparations. There 
were at the service of the English governor a 
number of New England troops, brought thither 
for the capture of the forts lying in the debatable 
land about the head of the Bay of Fundy. These 
were under the command of Lieutenan1>Colonel 
John Winslow, of Massachusetts, a great-grand- 
son of Governor Edward Winslow, of Plymouth, 
and to this gentleman and Captain Alexander 
Murray was intrusted the task of removal. They 
were instructed to use stratagem, if possible, to 
bring together the various families, but to prevent 
any from escaping to the woods. On the 2d of 
September, 1755, Winslow issued a written order, 
addressed to the inhabitants of Grand-Pre, Minas, 
River Canard, etc., " as well ancient as young 
men and lads," — a proclamation summoning all 
the males to attend him in the church at Grand- 
Pre on the 5th instant, to hear a communication 
which the governor had sent. As there had been 
negotiations respecting the oath of allegiance, and 
much discussion as to the withdrawal of the 



HISTORICAL BASIS OF POEM xxiii 

Acadians from the country, though none as to 
their removal and dispersal, it was understood 
that this was an important meeting, and upon 
the day named four hundred and. eighteen men 
and boys assembled in the church. Winslow, at- 
tended by his officers and men, caused a guard to 
be placed round the church, and then announced 
to the people his majesty's decision that they were 
to be removed with their families out of the 
country. The church became at once a guard- 
house, and all the prisoners were under strict sur- 
veillance. At the same time similar plans had 
been carried out at Pisiquid under Captain Mur- 
ray, and less successfully at Chignecto. Mean- 
while there were whispers of a rising among the 
prisoners, and although the transports which had 
been ordered from Boston had not yet arrived, it 
was determined to make use of the vessels which 
had conveyed the troops, and remove the men to 
these for safer keeping. This was done on the 
10th of September, and the men remained on 
the vessels in the harbor until the arrival of the 
transports, when these were made use of, and 
about three thousand souls were sent out of the 
country to North Carolina, Virginia T Maryland, 
Pennsylvania, New York, Connecticut, and Massa- 
chusetts. In the haste and confusion of sending 
them off, — a haste which was increased by the 
anxiety of the officers to be rid of the distasteful 
business, and a confusion which was greater from 
the difference of tongues, — many families were 
separated, and some at least never came together 
again. 



xxiv HISTORICAL BASIS OF POEM 

The story of Evangeline is the story of such a 
separation. The removal of the Acadians was a 
blot upon the government of Nova Scotia and 
upon that of Great Britain, which never disowned 
the deed, although it was probably done without 
direct permission or command from England. It 
proved to be unnecessary, but it must also be 
remembered that to many men at that time the 
English power seemed trembling before France, 
and that the colony at Halifax regarded the act 
as one of self-preservation. 



EVANGELINE 

A TALE OF ACADIE 



THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring 
pines and the hemlocks, 

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indis- 
tinct in the twilight, 

Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and pro- 
phetic, 

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on 
their bosoms. 

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neigh- 
boring ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 
wail of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval; but where are the 

hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland 

the voice of the huntsman ? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of 

Acadian farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water 

the woodlands, 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an 

image of heaven? 



2 EVANGELINE 

Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers 
forever departed ! 

Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty 
blasts of October 

Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them 
far o'er the ocean. 

Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful vil- 
lage of Grand-Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and en- 
dures, and is patient, 

Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of 
woman's devotion, 

List to the mournful tradition still sung by the 
pines of the forest ; 

List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the 
happy. 



PART THE FIRST 



In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 
Minas, 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand- 
Pre* 

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched 
to the eastward, 

Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 
without number. 

Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 
with labor incessant, 



PART THE FIRST 3 

Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated seasons 

the flood-gates 
Opened and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er 

the meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and or- 
chards and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and 

away to the northward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the 

mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 

mighty Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their 

station descended. 
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Aca- 
dian village. 
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak 

and of hemlock, 
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign 

of the Henries. 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; 

and gables projecting 
Over the basement below protected and shaded the 

doorway. 
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 

brightly the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on 

the chimneys, 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and 

in kirtles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning 

the golden 



4 EVANGELINE 

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 

within doors 
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels 

and the songs of the maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, 

and the children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended 

to bless them. 
Reverend walked he among them; and up rose 

matrons and maidens, 
Hailing his slow approach with words of affection- 
ate welcome. 
Then came the laborers home from the field, and 

serenely the sun sank 
Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 

from the belfry 
Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of 

the village 
Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 

ascending, 
Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace 

and contentment. 
Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 

farmers, — 
Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were 

they free from 
Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the 

vice of republics. 
Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to 

their windows; 



PART THE FIRST 5 

But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts 

of the owners ; 
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in 

abundance. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the 

Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 

Grand-Pre*, 
Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, directing 

his household, 
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of 

the village. 
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of sev- 
enty winters ; 
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with 

snow-flakes ; 
White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks 

as brown as the oak-leaves. 
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 

summers ; 
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the 

thorn by the wayside, 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 

brown shade of her tresses ! 
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 

feed in the meadows. 
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at 

noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth was 

the maiden. 



6 EVANGELINE 

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the 

bell from its turret 
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 

with his hyssop 
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings 

upon them, 
Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet 

of beads and her missal, 
Wearing her Norman cap and her kirtie of blue, 

and the ear-rings 
Brought in the olden time from France, and since, 

as an heirloom, 
Handed down from mother to child, through long 

generations. 
But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal 

beauty — 
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, 

after confession, 
Homeward serenely she walked with God's benedic- 
tion upon her. 
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of 

exquisite music. 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of 
the farmer 

Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; 
and a shady 

Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreath- 
ing around it. 

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath ; 
and a footpath 

Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in 
the meadow. 



PART THE FIRST 7 

Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a 

penthouse, 
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the 

roadside, 
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image 

of Mary. 
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well 

with its moss-grown 
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for 

the horses. 
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were 

the barns and the farm-yard ; 
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the an- 
tique ploughs and the harrows ; 
There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, in 

his feathered seraglio, 
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, 

with the selfsame 
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent 

Peter. 
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a 

village. In each one 
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; and 

a staircase, 
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous 

corn-loft. 
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and 

innocent inmates 
Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the vari- 
ant breezes 
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang 

of mutation. 



8 EVANGELINE 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the 
farmer of Grand-Pre 

Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline gov- 
erned his household. 

Many a youth, as he knelt in church and opened 
his missal, 

Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deep- 
est devotion ; 

Happy was he who might touch her hand or the 
hem of her garment ! 

Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness 
befriended, 

And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound 
of her footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
knocker of iron ; 

Or, at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the 
village, 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance 
as he whispered 

Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 
music. 

But among all who came young Gabriel only was 
welcome ; 

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- 
smith, 

Who was a mighty man in the village, and hon- 
ored of all men ; 

For since the birth of time, throughout all ages 
and nations, 

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by 
the people. 



PART THE FIRST 9 

Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from 

earliest childhood 
Grew up together as brother and sister; and 

Father Felician, 
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had 

taught them their letters 
Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 

church and the plain-song. 
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily les- 
son completed, 
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil 

the blacksmith. 
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes 

to behold him 
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a 

plaything, 
Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the 

tire of the cart-wheel 
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of 

cinders. 
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gath- 
ering darkness 
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 

every cranny and crevice, 
Warm by the forge within they watched the 

laboring bellows, 
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired 

in the ashes, 
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going 

into the chapel. 
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of 

the eagle, 



10 EVANGELINE 

Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er 

the meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous 

nests on the rafters, 
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 

which the swallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the 

sight of its fledglings ; 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of 

the swallow ! 
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer 

were children. 
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face 

of the morning, 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 

thought into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes 

of a woman. 
" Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; for 

that was the sunshine 
Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 

orchards with apples ; 
She too would bring to her husband's house de- 
light and abundance, 
Filling it with love and the ruddy faces of chil- 
dren. 

ii 

Now had the season returned, when the nights 
grow colder and longer, 
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion 
enters. 



PART THE FIRST 11 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, 
from the ice-bound, 

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical is- 
lands. 

Harvests were gathered in; and wild with the 
winds of September 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old 
with the angel. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclem- 
ent. 

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoarded 
their honey 

Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters 
asserted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur of 
the foxes. 

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed 
that beautiful season, 

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Summer 
of All-Saints ! 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical 
light ; and the landscape 

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of child- 
hood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the restless 
heart of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were in 
harmony blended. 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks in 
the farm-yards, 

Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing of 
pigeons, 



12 EVANGELINE 

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, 

and the great sun 
Looked with the eye of love through the golden 

vapors around him ; 
While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet and 

yellow, 
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering 

tree of the forest 
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 

with mantles and jewels. 

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affec- 
tion and stillness. 
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and 

twilight descending 
Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the 

herds to the homestead. 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their 

necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the 

freshness of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful 

heifer, 
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that 

waved from her collar, 
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human 

affection. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating 

flocks from the seaside, 
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them 

followed the watch-dog, 



PART THE FIRST 13 

Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride 

of his instinct, 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and 

superbly- 
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the 

stragglers ; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; 

their protector, 
When from the forest at night, through the starry 

silence, the wolves howled. 
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains 

from the marshes, 
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its 

odor. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their 

manes and their fetlocks, 
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and 

ponderous saddles, 
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tas- 
sels of crimson, 
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy 

with blossoms. 
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded 

their udders 
Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in 

regular cadence 
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets 

descended. 
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard 

in the farm-yard, 
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into 

stillness ; 



14 EVANGELINE 

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of 

the barn-doors, 
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was 

silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, 

idly the farmer 
Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the flames 

and the smoke-wreaths 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. Be- 
hind him, 
Nodding and mocking along the wall with gestures 

fantastic, 
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away 

into darkness. 
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of his 

arm-chair 
Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter 

plates on the dresser 
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of armies 

the sunshine. 
Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols of 

Christmas, 
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers 

before him 
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Bur- 

gundian vineyards. 
Close at her father's side was the gentle Evangeline 

seated, 
Spinning flax for the loom that stood in the cor- 
ner behind her. 
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its 

diligent shuttle, 



PART THE FIRST 15 

While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like 
the drone of a bagpipe, 

Followed the old man's song, and united the frag- 
ments together. 

As in a church, when the chant of the choir at 
intervals ceases, 

Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the 
priest at the altar, 

So, in each pause of the song, with measured 
motion the clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, 

and, suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung 

back on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was 

Basil the blacksmith, 
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who 

was with him. 
" Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their foot- 
steps paused on the threshold, 
"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy 

place on the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always empty 

without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the 

box of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when, through 

the curling 
Smoke of the pipe or the forge, thy friendly and 

jovial face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the 

mist of the marshes." 



16 EVANGELINE 

Then, with a smile of content, thus answered 

Basil the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the 

fireside : — 
" Benedict Belief ontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 

and thy ballad ! 
Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others 

are filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin 

before them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst picked 

up a horseshoe." 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evange- 
line brought him, 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he 

slowly continued : — 
" Four days now are passed since the English ships 

at their anchors 
Bide in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their cannon 

pointed against us. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all are 

commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 

Majesty's mandate 
Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! in 

the mean time 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the 

people." 
Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps some 

friendlier purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the 

harvests in England 



PART THE FIRST 17 

By untimely rains or untimelier heat have been 

blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed 

their cattle and children." 
"Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said 

warmly the blacksmith, 
Shaking his head as in doubt; then, heaving a 

sigh, he continued : — 
" Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, nor 

Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on 

its outskirts, 
Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of 

to-morrow. 
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike wea- 
pons of all kinds ; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and 

the scythe of the mower." 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the jovial 

farmer : — 
" Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our flocks 

and our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes besieged by the 

ocean, 
Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the enemy's 

cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 

shadow of sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the 

night of the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry 

lads of the village 



18 EVANGELINE 

Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking 

the glebe round about them, 
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food 

for a twelvemonth. 
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers 

and inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy 

of our children ? " 
As apart by the window she stood, with her hand 

in her lover's, 
Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 

father had spoken, 
And, as they died on his lips, the worthy notary 

entered. 

in 

Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the turf 

of the ocean, 
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the 

notary public ; 
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 

maize, hung 
Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 

glasses with horn bows 
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom 

supernal. 
Father of twenty children was he, and more than 

a hundred 
Children's children rode on his knee, and heard 

his great watch tick. 
Four long years in the times of the war had he 

languished a captive, 



PART THE FIRST 19 

Suffering much in an old French fort as the 

friend of the English. 
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or 

suspicion, 
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, 

and childlike. 
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the 

children ; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the 

forest, 
And of the goblin that came in the night to water 

the horses, 
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child 

who unchristened 
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the cham- 
bers of children ; 
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the 

stable, 
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up 

in a nutshell, 
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved 

clover and horseshoes, 
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the 

village. 
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil 

the blacksmith, 
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly 

extending his right hand, 
" Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast 

heard the talk in the village, 
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these 

ships and their errand." 



20 EVANGELINE 

Then with modest demeanor made answer the 

notary public, — 
" Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 

never the wiser ; 
And what their errand may be I know no better 

than others. 
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil 

intention 
Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why 

then molest us ? " 
" God's name ! " shouted the hasty and somewhat 

irascible blacksmith ; 
* Must we in all things look for the how, and the 

why, and the wherefore ? 
Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of 

the strongest ! " 
But, without heeding his warmth, continued the 

notary public, — 
" Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally jus- 
tice 
Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that 

often consoled me, 
When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at 

Port Royal." 
This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved 

to repeat it 
When his neighbors complained that any injustice 

was done them. 
" Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer 

remember, 
Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Jus- 
tice 



PART THE FIRST 21 

Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in 

its left hand, 
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that jus- 
tice presided 
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 

homes of the people. 
Even the birds had built their nests in the scales 

of the balance, 
Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the 

sunshine above them. 
But in the course of time the laws of the land 

were corrupted ; 
Might took the place of right, and the weak were 

oppressed, and the mighty 
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a 

nobleman's palace 
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a 

suspicion 
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as a maid in the 

household. 
She, after form of trial condemned to die on the 

scaffold, 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue 

of Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit as- 
cended, 
Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts of 

the thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath 

from its left hand 
Down on the pavement below the clattering scales 

of the balance, 



22 EVANGELINE 

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of 

a magpie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls 

was inwoven." 
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was 

ended, the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but 

findeth no language ; 
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his 

face, as the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in 

the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the 

table, 
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with 

home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in 

the village of Grand-Pre ; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his papers 

and inkhorn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of 

the parties, 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep 

and in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well 

were completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on 

the margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on 

the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of 

silver ; 



PART THE FIRST 23 

And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and 

bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their 

welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed 

and departed, 
While in silence the others sat and mused by the 

fireside, 
Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of 

its corner. 
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention 

the old men 
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeu- 
vre, 
Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 

was made in the king-row. 
Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a win- 
dow's embrasure, 
Sat the lovers and whispered together, beholding 

the moon rise 
Over the pallid sea and the silvery mists of the 

meadows. 
Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of 

heaven, 
Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of 

the angels. 

Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell 

from the belfry 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and 

straightway 
Rose the guests and departed ; and silence reigned 

in the household. 



24 EVANGELINE 

Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the 

door-step 
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it 

with gladness. 
Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed 

on the hearth-stone, 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the 

farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline 

followed. 
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the 

darkness, 
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of 

the maiden. 
Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door of 

her chamber. 
Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of 

white, and its clothes-press 
Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were 

carefully folded 
Linen and woollen stuffs, by the hand of Evange- 
line woven. 
This was the precious dower she would bring to 

her husband in marriage, 
Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her 

skill as a housewife. 
Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow 

and radiant moonlight 
Streamed through the windows, and lighted the 

room, till the heart of the maiden 
Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous 

tides of the ocean. 



PART THE FIRST 25 

Ah I she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she 

stood with 
Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of 

her chamber ! 
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of 

the orchard, 
Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her 

lamp and her shadow. 
Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feel- 
ing of sadness 
Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds 

in the moonlight 
Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for 

a moment. 
And, as she gazed from the window, she saw 

serenely the moon pass 
Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow 

her footsteps, 
As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered 

with Hagar. 

IV 

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the village 
of Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the Basin 
of Minas, 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, 
were riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and clamor- 
ous labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden 
gates of the morning. 



26 EVANGELINE 

Now from the country around, from the farms and 

neighboring hamlets, 
Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 

peasants. 
Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh 

from the young folk 
Made the bright air brighter, as up from the 

numerous meadows, 
Where no path could be seen but the track of 

wheels in the greensward, 
Group after group appeared, and joined, or passed 

on the highway. 
Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor 

were silenced. 
Thronged were the streets with people ; and noisy 

groups at the house-doors 
Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gossiped 

together. 
Every house was an inn, where all were welcomed 

and feasted ; 
For with this simple people, who lived like bro- 
thers together, 
All things were held in common, and what one 

had was another's. 
Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed more 

abundant : 
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 

father ; 
Bright was her face with smiles, and words of 

welcome and gladness 
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup 

as she gave it. 



PART THE FIRST 27 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 
orchard, 

Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast of 
betrothal. 

There in the shade of the porch were the priest 
and the notary seated ; 

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 
blacksmith. 

Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press 
and the bee-hives, 

Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest of 
hearts and of waistcoats. 

Shadow and light from the leaves alternately 
played on his snow-white 

Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face 
of the fiddler 

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are 
blown from the embers. 

Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of 
his fiddle, 

Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon de 
Dunkerque, 

And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to the 
music. 

Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzy- 
ing dances 

Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the 
meadows ; 

Old folk and young together, and children min- 
gled among them. 

Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Bene- 
dict's daughter ! 



28 EVANGELINE 

Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the 
blacksmith ! 

So passed the morning away. And lo ! with 
a summons sonorous 

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the 
meadows a drum beat. 

Thronged erelong was the church with men. With- 
out, in the churchyard, 

Waited the women. They stood by the graves, 
and hung on the headstones 

Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh 
from the forest. 

Then came the guard from the ships, and march- 
ing proudly among them 

Entered the sacred portal. With loud and disso- 
nant clangor 

Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from 
ceiling and casement, — 

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous 
portal 

Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will 
of the soldiers. 

Then uprose their commander, and spake from 
the steps of the altar, 

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the 
royal commission. 

" You are convened this day," he said, " by his 
Majesty's orders. 

Clement and kind has he been ; but how you have 
answered his kindness 



PART THE FIRST 29 

Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural make 

and my temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know 

must be grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of 

our monarch : 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and 

cattle of all kinds 
Forfeited be to the crown; and that you your- 
selves from this province 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you may 

dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable 

people ! 
Prisoners now I declare you, for such is his Ma- 
jesty's pleasure ! " 
As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of 

summer, 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of 

the hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field, and 

shatters his windows, 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 

thatch from the house-roofs, 
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their 

enclosures ; 
So on the hearts of the people descended the words 

of the speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, 

and then rose 
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and 

anger, 



30 EVANGELINE 

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to 

the door-way. 
Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and fierce 

imprecations 
Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er 

the heads of the others 
Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the 

blacksmith, 
As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 
Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; 

and wildly he shouted, — 
"Down with the tyrants of England! we never 

have sworn them allegiance ! 
Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our 

homes and our harvests ! " 
More he fain would have said, but the merciless 

hand of a soldier 
Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him 

down to the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry 
contention, 

Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 
Felician 

Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps 
of the altar. 

Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed 
into silence 

All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to 
his people ; 

Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents mea- 
sured and mournful 



PART THE FIRST 31 

Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly 

the clock strikes. 
" What is this that ye do, my children ? what mad- 
ness has seized you ? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among you, 

and taught you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one an- 
other ! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and 

prayers and privations ? 
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and 

forgiveness ? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and 

would you profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 

with hatred? 
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from His cross is 

gazing upon you ! 
See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and 

holy compassion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, i O 

Father, forgive them ! ' 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 

wicked assail us, 
Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive 

them ! ' " 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 

hearts of his people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the 

passionate outbreak, 
While they repeated his prayer, and said, "O 

Father, forgive them 1 " 



32 EVANGELINE 

Then came the evening service. The tapers 

gleamed from the altar ; 
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, and 

the people responded, 
Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and 

the Ave Maria 
Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their souls, 

with devotion translated, 
Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascending 

to heaven. 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings 
of ill, and on all sides 

Wandered, wailing, from house to house the women 
and children. 

Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with 
her right hand 

Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the sun, 
that, descending, 

Lighted the village street with mysterious splendor, 
and roofed each 

Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and embla- 
zoned its windows. 

Long within had been spread the snow-white cloth 
on the table ; 

There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey fra- 
grant with wild flowers ; 

There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese 
fresh brought from the dairy ; 

And at the head of the board the great arm-chair 
of the farmer. 

Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, as 
the sunset 



PART THE FIRST 33 

Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad 
ambrosial meadows. 

Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 
fallen, 

And from the fields of her soul a fragrance celes- 
tial ascended, — 

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgiveness, 
and patience ! 

Then, all forgetful of self, she wandered into the 
village, 

Cheering with looks and words the mournful hearts 
of the women, 

As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps 
they departed, 

Urged by their household cares, and the weary feet 
of their children. 

Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, glim- 
mering vapors 

Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet de- 
scending from Sinai. 

Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 
sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church 
Evangeline lingered. 

All was silent within ; and in vain at the door and 
the windows 

Stood she, and listened and looked, until, over- 
come by emotion, 

" Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous voice ; 
but no answer 

Came from the graves of the dead, nor the 
gloomier grave of the living. 



34 EVANGELINE 

Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless 

house of her father. 
Smouldered the fire on the ; hearth, on the board 

was the supper untasted. 
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted 

with phantoms of terror. 
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor of 

her chamber. 
In the dead of the night she heard the disconso- 
late rain fall 
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore-tree 

by the window. 
Keenly the lightning flashed; and the voice of 

the echoing thunder 
Told her that God was in heaven, and governed 

the world He created ! 
Then she remembered the tale she had heard of 

the justice of Heaven ; 
Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peacefully 

slumbered till morning. 



Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now 

on the fifth day 
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids of 

the farm-house. 
Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mournful 

procession, 
Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms 

the Acadian women, 
Driving in ponderous wains their household goods 

to the sea-shore, 



PART THE FIRST 35 

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on 

their dwellings, 
Ere they were shut from sight by the winding 

road and the woodland. 
Close at their sides their children ran, and urged 

on the oxen, 
While in their little hands they clasped some 

fragments of playthings. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; 

and there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the 

peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did 

the boats ply ; 
All day long the wains came laboring down from 

the village. 
Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to 

his setting, 
Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of drums 

from the churchyard. 
Thither the women and children thronged. On a 

sudden the church-doors 
Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching 

in gloomy procession 
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Aca- 
dian farmers. 
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 

homes and their country, 
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 

weary and wayworn, 
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants 

descended 



36 EVANGELINE 

Down from the church to the shore, amid their 
wives and their daughters. 

Foremost the young men came ; and, raising to- 
gether their voices, 

Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Catholic 
Missions : — 

" Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible 
fountain ! 

Fill our hearts this day with strength and submis- 
sion and patience ! " 

Then the old men, as they marched, and the 
women that stood by the w T ayside 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the 
sunshine above them 

Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of 
spirits departed. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited 

in silence, 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour 

of affliction, — 
Calmly and sadly she waited, until the procession 

approached her, 
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with 

emotion. 
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running to 

meet him, 
Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 

shoulder, and whispered, — 
" Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love one 

another 
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- 
chances may happen ! " 



PART THE FIRST 37 

Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly- 
paused, for her father 
Saw she, slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 

was his aspect ! 
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire 

from his eye, and his footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy 

heart in his bosom. 
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck 

and embraced him, 
Speaking words of endearment where words of 

comfort availed not. 
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that 

mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 
stir of embarking. 

Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the con- 
fusion 

Wives were torn from their husbands, and mo- 
thers, too late, saw their children 

Left on the land, extending their arms, with 
wildest entreaties. 

So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel 
carried, 

While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 
with her father. 

Half the task was not done when the sun went 
down, and the twilight 

Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste the 
refluent ocean 

Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the 
sand-beach 



38 EVANGELINE 

Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and the 

slippery sea-weed. 
Farther back in the midst of the household goods 

and the wagons, 
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a battle, 
All escape cut oif by the sea, and the sentinels near 

them, 
Lay encamped for the night the houseless Acadian 

farmers. 
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bellow- 
ing ocean, 
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, 

and leaving 
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats of 

the sailors. 
Then, as the night descended, the herds returned 

from their pastures ; 
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of milk 

from their udders ; 
Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known 

bars of the farm-yard, — 
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the 

hand of the milkmaid. 
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church no 

Angelus sounded, 
Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no 

lights from the windows. 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires 
had been kindled, 
Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 
wrecks in the tempest. 



PART THE FIRST 39 

Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces 

were gathered, 
Voices of women were heard, and of men, and the 

crying of children. 
Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth 

in his parish, 
Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and bless- 
ing and cheering, 
Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's desolate 

seashore. 
Thus he approached the place where Evangeline 

sat with her father, 
And in the flickering light beheld the face of the 

old man, 
Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 

thought or emotion, 
E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands 

have been taken. 
Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses 

to cheer him, 
Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he 

looked not, he spake not, 
But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flicker- 
ing fire-light. 
" Benedicite !" murmured the priest, in tones of 

compassion. 
More he fain would have said, but his heart was 

full, and his accents 
Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a 

child on a threshold, 
Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 

presence of sorrow. 



40 EVANGELINE 

Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head of 
the maiden, 

Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that 
above them 

Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs 
and sorrows of mortals. 

Then sat he down at her side, and they wept to- 
gether in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in au- 
tumn the blood-red 

Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o'er 
the horizon 

Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon moun- 
tain and meadow, 

Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
shadows together. 

Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs 
of the village, 

Gleamed on the sky and sea, and the ships that lay 
in the roadstead. 

Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of 
flame were 

Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 
the quivering hands of a martyr. 

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burn- 
ing thatch, and, uplifting, 

Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from 
a hundred house-tops 

Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame in- 
termingled. 



PART THE FIRST 41 

These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the 
shore and on shipboard. 

Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in 
their anguish, 

" "We shall behold no more our homes in the vil- 
lage of Grand-Pre ! " 

Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the 
farm-yards, 

Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the low- 
ing of cattle 

Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of 
dogs interrupted. 

Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the 
sleeping encampments 

Far in the western prairies of forests that skirt 
the Nebraska, 

When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the 
speed of the whirlwind, 

Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to 
the river. 

Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the 
herds and the horses 

Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 
rushed o'er the meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the 

priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 

widened before them ; 
And as they turned at length to speak to their 

silent companion, 



42 EVANGELINE 

Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 
abroad on the seashore 

Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had 
departed. 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the 
maiden 

Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her 
terror. 

Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head 
on his bosom. 

Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
slumber ; 

And when she woke from the trance, she beheld a 
multitude near her. 

Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully 
gazing upon her, 

Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com- 
passion. 

Still the blaze of the burning village illumined 
the landscape, 

Keddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the 
faces around her, 

And like the day of doom it seemed to her waver- 
ing senses. 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the 
people, — 

" Let us bury him here by the sea. When a hap- 
pier season 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown 
land of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the 
churchyard." 



PART THE SECOND 43 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in 

haste by the sea-side, 
Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 

torches, 
But without bell or book, they buried the farmer 

of Grand-Pre. 
And as the voice of the priest repeated the service 

of sorrow, 
Lo ! with a mournful sound like the voice of a 

vast congregation, 
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar 

with the dirges. 
' T was the returning tide, that afar from the waste 

of the ocean, 
With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and 

hurrying landward. 
Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of 

embarking ; 
And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out 

of the harbor, 
Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and 

the village in ruins. 



PART THE SECOND 



Many a weary year had passed since the burning 
of Grand-Pre, 

When on the falling tide the freighted vessels de- 
parted, 

Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into 
exile, 



44 EVANGELINE 

Exile without an end, and without an example in 

story. 
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 

landed ; 
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when the 

wind from the northeast 
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 

Banks of Newfoundland. 
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered from 

city to city, 
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry Southern 

savannas, — 
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands where 

the Father of Waters 
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them down 

to the ocean, 
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones of 

the mammoth. 
Friends they sought and homes; and many, de- 
spairing, heart-broken, 
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer a 

friend nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in 

the churchyards. 
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited 

and wandered, 
Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffering 

all things. 
Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her ex- 
tended, 
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, with 

its pathway 



PART THE SECOND 45 

Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed 
and suffered before her, 

Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead 
and abandoned, 

As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is 
marked by 

Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach 
in the sunshine. 

Something there was in her life incomplete, imper- 
fect, unfinished ; 

As if a morning of June, with all its music and 
sunshine, 

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly de- 
scended 

Into the east again, from whence it late had 
arisen. 

Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by the 
fever within her, 

Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst 
of the spirit, 

She would commence again her endless search and 
endeavor ; 

Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed on 
the crosses and tombstones, 

Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that per- 
haps in its bosom 

He was already at rest, and she longed to slumber 
beside him. 

Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate whis- 
per, 

Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her 
forward. 



46 EVANGELINE 

Sometimes she spake with those who had seen her 

beloved and known him, 
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or forgot- 
ten. 
" Gabriel Lajennesse ! " they said ; " Oh, yes ! we 

have seen him. 
He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both have 

gone to the prairies ; 
Coureurs-des-bois are they, and famous hunters 

and trappers." 
" Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " Oh, yes ! we 

have seen him. 
He is a voyageur in the lowlands of Louisiana." 
Then would they say, " Dear child ! why dream 

and wait for him longer? 
Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? 

others 
Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as 

loyal? 
Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who has 

loved thee 
Many a tedious year; come, give him thy hand 

and be happy ! 
Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Catherine's 

tresses." 
Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sadly, 

" I cannot ! 
Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, 

and not elsewhere. 
For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and 

illumines the pathway, 
Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in 

darkness." 



PAfiT THE SECOND 47 

Thereupon the priest, her friend and father con- 
fessor, 

Said, with a smile, " O daughter ! thy God thus 
speaketh within thee ! 

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 
wasted ; 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, re- 
turning 

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them 
full of refreshment ; 

That which the fountain sends forth returns again 
to the fountain. 

Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy 
work of affection ! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endur- 
ance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 
heart is made godlike, 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered 
more worthy of heaven ! " 

Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline 
labored and waited. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of 
the ocean, 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice that 
whispered, " Despair not ! " 

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and 
cheerless discomfort, 

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns 
of existence. 

Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's 
footsteps ; — 



48 EVANGELINE 

Not through each devious path, each changeful 
year of existence ; 

But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course 
through the valley : 

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the 
gleam of its water 

Here and there, in some open space, and at inter- 
vals only ; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan 
glooms that conceal it, 

Though he behold it not, he can hear its continu- 
ous murmur ; 

Happy, at length, if he find a spot where it 
reaches an outlet. 

ii 

It was the month of May. Far down the Beau- 
tiful River, 

Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the 
Wabash, 

Into the golden stream of the broad and swift 
Mississippi, 

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by Aca- 
dian boatmen. 

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from 
the shipwrecked 

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating to- 
gether, 

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a 
common misfortune ; 

Men and women and children, who, guided by 
hope or by hearsay, 



PART THE SECOND 49 

Sought for their kith and their kin among the 

few-acred farmers 
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair 

Opelousas. 
With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the 

Father Felician. 
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness 

sombre with forests, 
Day after day they glided adown the turbulent 

river ; 
Night after night, by their blazing fires, encamped 

on its borders. 
Now through rushing chutes, among green is- 
lands, where plumelike 
Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they 

swept with the current, 
Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery 

sand-bars 
Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling waves 

of their margin, 
Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of 

pelicans waded. 
Level the landscape grew, and along the shores 

of the river, 
Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant 

gardens, 
Stood the houses of planters, with negro cabins 

and dove-cots. 
They were approaching the region where reigns 

perpetual summer, 
Where through the Golden Coast, and groves of 

orange and citron, 



50 EVANGELINE 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to the 
eastward. 

They, too, swerved from their course ; and, enter- 
ing the Bayou of Plaquemine, 

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious 
waters, 

Which, like a network of steel, extended in every 
direction. 

Over their heads the towering and tenebrous 
boughs of the cypress 

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid- 
air 

Waved like banners that hang on the walls of 
ancient cathedrals. 

Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save 
by the herons 

Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning 
at sunset, 

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with de- 
moniac laughter. 

Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and 
gleamed on the water, 

Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar sus- 
taining the arches, 

Down through whose broken vaults it fell as 
through chinks in a ruin. 

Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all 
things around them ; 

And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of won- 
der and sadness, — 

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and that cannot 
be compassed. 



PART THE SECOND 51 

As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of 
the prairies, 

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrink- 
ing mimosa, 

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings 
of evil, 

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of doom 
has attained it. 

But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, 
that faintly 

Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on 
through the moonlight. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed the 
shape of a phantom. 

Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wan- 
dered before her, 

And every stroke of the oar now brought him 
nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, rose 

one of the oarsmen, 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them perad- 

venture 
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, blew 

a blast on his bugle. 
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors 

leafy the blast rang, 
Breaking the seal of silence and giving tongues to 

the forest. 
Soundless above them the banners of moss just 

stirred to the music. 
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the dis- 
tance, 



52 EVANGELINE 

Over the watery floor, and beneath the reverberant 

branches ; 
Bnt not a voice replied ; no answer came from the 

darkness ; 
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of 

pain was the silence. 
Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed 

through the midnight, 
Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian 

boat-songs, 
Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian 

rivers, 
While through the night were heard the mysteri- 
ous sounds of the desert, 
Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in the 

forest, 
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar of 

the grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from the 
shades ; and before them 

Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atchafa- 
laya. 

Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undu- 
lations 

Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in 
beauty, the lotus 

Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the 
boatmen. 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of mag- 
nolia blossoms, 

And with the heat of noon ; and numberless sylvan 
islands, 



PART THE SECOND 53 

Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming 

hedges of roses, 
Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to 

slumber. 
Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were 

suspended. 
Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew 

by the margin, 
Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered about 

on the greensward, 
Tired with their midnight toil, the weary travellers 

slumbered. 
Over them vast and high extended the cope of a 

cedar. 
Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower 

and the grapevine 
Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder of 

Jacob, 
On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, 

descending, 
Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from 

blossom to blossom. 
Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slum- 
bered beneath it. 
Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of an 

opening heaven 
Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of regions 

celestial. 

Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless is- 
lands, 
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er the 
water, 



54 EVANGELINE 

Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters 
and trappers. 

Northward its prow was turned, to the land of the 
bison and beaver. 

At the helm sat a youth, with countenance thought- 
ful and careworn. 

Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, 
and a sadness 

Somewhat beyond his years on his face was legibly- 
written. 

Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy 
and restless, 

Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and 
of sorrow. 

Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of the 
island, 

But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen of 
palmettos ; 

So that they saw not the boat, where it lay con- 
cealed in the willows ; 

All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and un- 
seen, were the sleepers ; 

Angel of God was there none to awaken the slum- 
bering maiden. 

Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a cloud 
on the prairie. 

After the sound of their oars on the tholes had 
died in the distance, 

As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and 
the maiden 

Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, " Father 
Felician ! 



PART THE SECOND 55 

Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel 

wanders. 
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague supersti- 
tion? 
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to 

my spirit ? " 
Then, with a blush, she added, " Alas for my cred- 
ulous fancy ! 
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no 

meaning." 
But made answer the reverend man, and he smiled 

as he answered, — 
" Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they 

to me without meaning. 
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that floats 

on the surface 
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the 

anchor is hidden. 
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the 

world calls illusions. 
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to the 

southward, 
On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. 

Maur and St. Martin. 
There the long-wandering bride shall be given 

again to her bridegroom, 
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and 

his sheepfold. 
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests 

of fruit-trees ; 
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest 

of heavens 



56 EVANGELINE 

Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls 

of the forest. 
They who dwell there have named it the Eden of 

Louisiana." 

With these words of cheer they arose and con- 
tinued their journey. 

Softly the evening came. The sun from the west- 
ern horizon 

Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er the 
landscape ; 

Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water and 
forest 

Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and 
mingled together. 

Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges of 
silver, 

Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the 
motionless water. 

Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible 
sweetness. 

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains 
of feeling 

Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and 
waters around her. 

Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking- 
bird, wildest of singers, 

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er 
the water, 

Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious 
music, 

That the whole air and the woods and the waves 
seemed silent to listen. 



PART THE SECOND 57 

Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then 
soaring to madness 

Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied 
Bacchantes. 

Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low 
lamentation ; 

Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 
abroad in derision, 

As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the 
tree-tops 

Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower 
on the branches. 

With such a prelude as this, and hearts that 
throbbed with emotion, 

Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows 
through the green Opelousas, 

And, through the amber air, above the crest of the 
woodland, 

Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neigh- 
boring dwelling ; — 

Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant low- 
ing of cattle. 

in 

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by 
oaks from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistletoe 
flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatchets 
at Yule-tide, 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herds- 
man. A garden 



58 EVANGELINE 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant 

blossoms, 
Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself 

was of timbers 
Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted 

together. 
Large and low was the roof ; and on slender col- 
umns supported, 
Rose- wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spacious 

veranda, 
Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extended 

around it. 
At each end of the house, amid the flowers of the 

garden, 
Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual 

symbol, 
Scenes of endless wooing, and endless contentions 

of rivals. 
Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of shadow 

and sunshine 
Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house itself 

was in shadow, 
And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly 

expanding 
Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke 

rose. 
In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, ran 

a pathway 
Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of 

the limitless prairie, 
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly de- 
scending. 



PART THE SECOND 59 

Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy 

canvas 
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless 

calm in the tropics, 
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of 

grapevines. 

Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf 

of the prairie, 
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and 

stirrups, 
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet of 

deerskin. 
Broad and brown was the face that from under the 

Spanish sombrero 
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look 

of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of kine 

that were grazing 
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the vapory 

freshness 
That uprose from the river, and spread itself over 

the landscape. 
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and 

expanding 
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that 

resounded 
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp 

air of the evening. 
Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns of 

the cattle 
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents 

of ocean. 



60 EVANGELINE 

Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing rushed 

o'er the prairie, 
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in 

the distance. 
Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, 

through the gate of the garden 
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden 

advancing to meet him. 
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in amaze- 
ment, and forward 
Pushed with extended arms and exclamations of 

wonder ; 
When they beheld his face, they recognized Basil 

the blacksmith. 
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to 

the garden. 
There in an arbor of roses with endless question 

and answer 
Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their 

friendly embraces, 
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent 

and thoughtful. 
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark 

doubts and misgivings 
Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, somewhat 

embarrassed, 
Broke the silence and said, " If you came by the 

Atchafalaya, 
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's 

boat on the bayous ? " 
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a 

shade passed. 



PART THE SECOND 61 

Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a 

tremulous accent, 
" Gone ? is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her 

face on his shoulder, 
All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she wept 

and lamented. 
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew 

blithe as he said it, — 
" Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day he 

departed. 
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with my herds 

and my horses. 
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, 

his spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet exist- 
ence. 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful 

ever, 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his 

troubles, 
He at length had become so tedious to men and to 

maidens, 
Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought 

me, and sent him 
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with 

the Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the 

Ozark Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping 

the beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer; we will follow the 

fugitive lover ; 



62 EVANGELINE 

He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the 

streams are against him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red dew 

of the morning, 
We will follow him fast, and bring him back to 

his prison." 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from the 
banks of the river, 

Borne aloft on his comrades' arms came Michael 
the fiddler. 

Long under Basil's roof had he lived, like a god 
on Olympus, 

Having no other care than dispensing music to 
mortals. 

Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his 
fiddle. 

" Long live Michael," they cried, " our brave Aca- 
dian minstrel ! " 

As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; 
and straightway 

Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greet- 
ing the old man 

Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while Basil, 
enraptured, 

Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and 
gossips, 

Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers 
and daughters. 

Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the ci- 
devant blacksmith, 

All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal 
demeanor ; 



PART THE SECOND 63 

Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil 

and the climate, 
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were 

his who would take them ; 
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would 

go and do likewise. 
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the 

breezy veranda, 
Entered the hall of the house, where already the 

supper of Basil 
Waited his late return; and they rested and 

feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness de- 
scended. 

All was silent without, and, illuming the land- 
scape with silver, 

Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; 
but within doors, 

Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in 
the glimmering lamplight. 

Then from his station aloft, at the head of the 
table, the herdsman 

Poured forth his heart and his wine together in 
endless profusion. 

Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet 
Natchitoches tobacco, 

Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and 
smiled as they listened : — 

" Welcome once more, my friends, who long have 
been friendless and homeless, 

Welcome once more to a home, that is better per- 
chance than the old one ! 



64 EVANGELINE 

Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like the 

rivers ; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the 

farmer ; 
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, 

as a keel through the water. 
All the year round the orange-groves are in blos- 
som ; and grass grows 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian 

summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and un- 
claimed in the prairies ; 
Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and 

forests of timber 
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 

into houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are 

yellow with harvests, 
No King George of England shall drive you away 

from your homesteads, 
Burning your dwellings and farms, and stealing 

your barns and your cattle." 
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud 

from his nostrils, 
While his huge, brown hand came thundering 

down on the table, 
So that the guests all started; and Father Feli- 

cian, astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snufE half-way 

to his nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were 

milder and gayer : — 



PART THE SECOND 65 

" Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware of 

the fever ! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian climate, 
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck 

in a nutshell ! " 
Then there were voices heard at the door, and 

footsteps approaching 
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the 

breezy veranda. 
It was the neighboring Creoles and small Acadian 

planters, 
Who had been summoned all to the house of Basil 

the herdsman. 
Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades and 

neighbors : 
Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who 

before were as strangers, 
Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends to 

each other, 
Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country 

together. 
But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, pro- 
ceeding 
From the accordant strings of Michael's melodi- 
ous fiddle, 
Broke up all further speech. Away, like children 

delighted, 
All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves 

to the maddening 
Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed 

to the music, 
Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of 

fluttering garments. 



66 EVANGELINE 

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the 

priest and the herdsman 
Sat, conversing together of past and present and 

future ; 
While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for 

within her 
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of the 

music 
Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepressible 

sadness 
Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth 

into the garden. 
Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall 

of the forest, 
Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 

On the river 
Fell here and there through the branches a tremu- 
lous gleam of the moonlight, 
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened and 

devious spirit. 
Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 

of the garden 
Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 

prayers and confessions 
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 

Carthusian. 
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 

shadows and night-dews, 
Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and the 

magical moonlight 
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable long- 
ings, 



PART THE SECOND 67 

As, through the garden gate, and beneath the shade 
of the oak-trees, 

Passed she along the path to the edge of the mea- 
sureless prairie. 

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and fire- 
flies 

Gleamed and floated away in mingled and infinite 
numbers. 

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in 
the heavens, 

Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to mar- 
vel and worship, 

Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls 
of that temple, 

As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 
" Upharsin." 

And the soul of the maiden, between the stars and 
the fire-flies, 

Wandered alone, and she cried, " O Gabriel ! O my 
beloved ! 

Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot behold 
thee? 

Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does 
not reach me ? 

Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to the 
prairie ! 

Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the wood- 
lands around me ! 

Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from 
labor, 

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me 
in thy slumbers ! 



68 EVANGELINE 

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be folded 

about thee ? " 
Loud and sudden and near the notes of a whippoor- 

will sounded 
Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the 

neighboring thickets, 
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 

into silence. 
" Patience J" whispered the oaks from oracular 

caverns of darkness ; 
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh responded, 

" To-morrow ! " 

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the flowers 

of the garden 
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and 

anointed his tresses 
With the delicious balm that they bore in their 

vases of crystal. 
" Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the 

shadowy threshold ; 
" See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from his 

fasting and famine, 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the 

bridegroom was coming. " 
" Farewell ! " answered the maiden, and, smiling, 

with Basil descended 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen 

already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and 

sunshine, and gladness, 
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was 

speeding before them. 



PART THE SECOND 69 

Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over the 

desert. 
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that 

succeeded, 
Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest or 

river, 
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but 

vague and uncertain 
Rumors alone were their guides through a wild 

and desolate country ; 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of 

Adayes, 
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from 

the garrulous landlord 
That on the day before, with horses and guides 

and companions, 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the 

prairies. 

IV 

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where 
the mountains 

Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and lumi- 
nous summits. 

Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where the 
gorge, like a gateway, 

Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emigrant's 
wagon, 

Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway and 
Owyhee. 

Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind- 
river Mountains, 



70 EVANGELINE 

Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate leaps 

the Nebraska ; 
And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the 

Spanish sierras, 
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the 

wind of the desert, 
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, descend 

to the ocean, 
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and solemn 

vibrations. 
Spreading between these streams are the wondrous 

beautiful prairies, 
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and 

sunshine, 
Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple 

amorphas. 
Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the 

elk and the roebuck ; 
Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of rider- 
less horses ; 
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are 

weary with travel ; 
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's 

children, 
Staining the desert with blood ; and above their 

terrible war-trails 
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the 

vulture, 
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered 

in battle, 
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the hea- 
vens. 



PART THE SECOND 71 

Here and there rise smokes from the camps of 

these savage marauders ; 
Here and there rise groves from the margins of 

swift-running rivers ; 
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk 

of the desert, 
Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots by 

the brook-side, 
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline 

heaven, 
Like the protecting hand of God inverted above 

them. 

Into this wonderful land, at the base of the Ozark 

Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trappers 

behind him. 
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the maiden 

and Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day to 

o'ertake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the 

smoke of his camp-fire 
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; 

but at nightfall, 
When they had reached the place, they found only 

embers and ashes. 
And, though their hearts were sad at times and 

their bodies were weary, 
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata Mor- 
gana 
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated and 

vanished before them. 



72 EVANGELINE 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there 

silently entered 
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose fea- 
tures 
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as great 

as her sorrow. 
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to her 

people, 
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel Ca- 

manches, 
Where her Canadian husband, a coureur-des-bois, 

had been murdered. 
Touched were their hearts at her story, and warm- 
est and friendliest welcome 
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and 

feasted among them 
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on the 

embers. 
But when their meal was done, and Basil and all 

his companions, 
Worn with the long day's march and the chase of 

the deer and the bison, 
Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept 

where the quivering fire-light 
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms 

wrapped up in their blankets, 
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and 

repeated 
Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her 

Indian accent, 
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and 

pains, and reverses. 



PART THE SECOND 73 

Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know 

that another 
Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been 

disappointed. 
Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and wo- 
man's compassion, 
Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered 

was near her, 
She in turn related her love and all its disas- 
ters. 
Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she 

had ended 
Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious 

horror 
Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated 

the tale of the Mowis ; 
Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and 

wedded a maiden, 
But, when the morning came, arose and passed 

from the wigwam, 
Fading and melting away and dissolving into the 

sunshine, 
Till she beheld him no more, though she followed 

far into the forest. 
Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a 

weird incantation, 
Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was 

wooed by a phantom, 
That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in 

the hush of the twilight, 
Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered 

love to the maiden, 



74 EVANGELINE 

Till she followed his green and waving plume 

through the forest, 
And nevermore returned, nor was seen again by 

her people. 
Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evange- 
line listened 
To the soft flow of her magical words,* till the 

region around her 
Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy- 
guest the enchantress. 
Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the 

moon rose, 
Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious 

splendor 
Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and 

filling the woodland. 
With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and 

the branches 
Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible 

whispers. 
Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's 

heart, but a secret, 
Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, 
As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest 

of the swallow. 
It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region 

of spirits 
Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt 

for a moment 
That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing 

a phantom. 
With this thought she slept, and the fear and the 

phantom had vanished. 



PART THE SEC01STD 75 

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed, 

and the Shawnee 
Said, as they journeyed along, — " On the western 

slope of these mountains 
Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of 

the Mission. 
Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary 

and Jesus ; 
Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with 

pain, as they hear him." 
Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evange- 
line answered, 
" Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings 

await us ! " 
Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a 

spur of the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur 

of voices, 
And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of 

a river, 
Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the 

Jesuit Mission. 
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of 

the village, 
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A 

crucifix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed 

by grapevines, 
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude 

kneeling beneath it. 
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the 

intricate arches 



76 EVANGELINE 

Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- 
pers, 

Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and 
sighs of the branches. 

Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer 
approaching, 

Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the even- 
ing devotions. 

But when the service was done, and the benedic- 
tion had fallen 

Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from 
the hands of the sower, 

Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, 
and bade them 

Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with 
benignant expression, 

Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue 
in the forest, 

And, with words of kindness, conducted them into 
his wigwam. 

There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on 
cakes of the maize-ear 

Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water- 
gourd of the teacher. 

Soon was their story told ; and the priest with 
solemnity answered : — 

"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, 
seated 

On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 
reposes, 

Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and con- 
tinued his journey ! " 



PART THE SECOND 77 

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with 

an accent of kindness ; 
But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in 

winter the snow-flakes 
Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have 

departed. 
" Far to the north he has gone," continued the 

priest ; " but in autumn, 
When the chase is done, will return again to the 

Mission." 
Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and 

submissive, 
" Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and 

afflicted." 
So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes 

on the morrow, 
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian 

guides and companions 
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed 

at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each 
other, — 

Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of 
maize that were springing 

Green from the ground when a stranger she came, 
now waving about her, 

Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, 
and forming 

Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pil- 
laged by squirrels. 

Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, 
and the maidens 



78 EVANGELINE 

Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened 

a lover, 
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in 

the corn-field. 
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not 

her lover. 
" Patience ! " the priest would say ; " have faith, 

and thy prayer will be answered ! 
Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head from 

the meadow, 
See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true 

as the magnet ; 
This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God 

has planted 
Here in the houseless wild, to direct the traveller's 

journey 
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of the 

desert. 
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms of 

passion, 
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller 

of fragrance, 
But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their 

odor is deadly. 
Only this humble plant can guide us here, and 

hereafter 
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet with 

the dews of nepenthe." 

So came the autumn, and passed, and the win- 
ter — yet Gabriel came not ; 
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of the 
robin and bluebird 



PART THE SECOND 79 

Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet Gabriel 
came not. 

But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor 
was wafted 

Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of blos- 
som. 

Ear to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan 
forests, 

Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Saginaw 
River. 

And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes 
of St. Lawrence, 

Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the 
Mission. 

When over weary ways, by long and perilous 
marches, 

She had attained at length the depths of the Michi- 
gan forests, 

Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen 
to ruin ! 

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and in sea- 
sons and places 

Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
maiden ; — 

Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Moravian 
Missions, 

Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of the 
army, 

Now in secluded hamlets, in. towns and populous 
cities. 

Like a phantom she came, and passed away unre- 
membered. 



80 EVANGELINE 

Fair was she and young, when in hope began the 

long journey ; 
Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it 

ended. 
Each succeeding year stole something away from 

her beauty, 
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom 

and the shadow. 
Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of 

gray o'er her forehead, 
Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly 

horizon, 
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the 

morning. 



In that delightful land which is washed by the 

Delaware's waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 

apostle, 
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the 

city he founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the em- 
blem of beauty, 
And the streets still reecho the names of the trees 

of the forest, 
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose 

haunts they molested. 
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline 

landed, an exile, 
Finding among the children of Penn a home and 

a country. 



PART THE SECOND 81 

There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he 
departed, 

Saw at his side only one of all his hundred de- 
scendants. 

Something at least there was in the friendly 
streets of the city, 

Something that spake to her heart, and made her 
no longer a stranger ; 

And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou 
of the Quakers, 

For it recalled the past, the old Acadian coun- 
try, 

Where all men were equal, and all were brothers 
and sisters. 

So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed en- 
deavor, 

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, un- 
complaining, 

Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her 
thoughts and her footsteps. 

As from the mountain's top the rainy mists of the 
morning 

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below 
us, 

Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and 
hamlets, 

So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the 
world far below her, 

Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and 
the pathway 

Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and 
fair in the distance. 



82 EVANGELINE 

Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was 

his image, 
Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last 

she beheld him, 
Only more beautiful made by his deathlike silence 

and absence. 
Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it 

was not. 
Over him years had no power ; he was not 

changed, but transfigured ; 
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, 

and not absent ; 
Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to 

others, 
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 

taught her. 
So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous 

spices, 
Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air 

with aroma. 
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but 

to 
Meekly follow, with reverent steps, the sacred feet 

of her Saviour. 
Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy ; 

frequenting 
Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of 

the city, 
Where distress and want concealed themselves 

from the sunlight, 
Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 

neglected. 



PART THE SECOND 83 

Night after night when the world was asleep, as 

the watchman repeated 
Loud, through the dusty streets, that all was well 

in the city, 
High at some lonely window he saw the light of 

her taper. 
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 

through the suburbs 
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and 

fruits for the market, 
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from 

its watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on 

the city, 
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by 

flocks of wild pigeons, 
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in 

their craws but an acorn. 
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of 

September, 
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a 

lake in the meadow, 
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural 

margin, 
Spread to a brackish lake the silver stream of ex- 
istence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to 

charm, the oppressor ; 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his 

anger ; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends nor 

attendants, 



84 EVANGELINE 

Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the 
homeless. 

Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of 
meadows and woodlands ; — 

Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its gate- 
way and wicket 

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls 
seem to echo 

Softly the words of the Lord : — " The poor ye 
always have with you." 

Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister of 
Mercy. The dying 

Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to 
behold there 

Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with 
splendor, 

Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints 
and apostles, 

Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a dis- 
tance. 

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city 
celestial, 

Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits 
would enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, 

deserted and silent, 
Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of 

the almshouse. 
Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in 

the garden, 
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest 

among them, 



PART THE SECOND 85 

That the dying once more might rejoice in their 

fragrance and beauty. 
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 

cooled by the east-wind, 
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from 

the belfry of Christ Church, 
While, intermingled with these, across the meadows 

were wafted 
Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes in 

their church at Wicaco. 
Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the hour 

on her spirit ; 
Something within her said, " At length thy trials 

are ended ; " 
And, with light in her looks, she entered the cham- 
bers of sickness. 
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 

attendants, 
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, 

and in silence 
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and conceal- 
ing their faces, 
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of snow 

by the roadside. 
Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline 

entered, 
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 

passed, for her presence 
Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the 

walls of a prison. 
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the 

consoler, 



86 EVANGELINE 

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it 
forever. 

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night 
time; 

Vacant their places were, or filled already by stran- 
gers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 
wonder, 

Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while 
a shudder 

Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flow- 
erets dropped from her fingers, 

And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom 
of the morning. 

Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such ter- 
rible anguish, 

That the dying heard it, and started up from their 
pillows. 

On the pallet before her was stretched the form of 
an old man. 

Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that 
shaded his temples ; 

But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a 
moment 

Seemed to assume once more the forms of its earlier 
manhood ; 

So are wont to be changed the faces of those who 
are dying. 

Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of 
the fever, 

As if life, like, the Hebrew, with blood had besprin- 
kled its portals, 



PART THE SECOND 87 

That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and 

pass over. 
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 

exhausted 
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths 

in the darkness, 
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking 

and sinking. 
Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 

reverberations, 
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush 

that succeeded 
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 

saintlike, 
" Gabriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away into 

silence. 
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home 

of his childhood ; 
Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among 

them, 
Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, walk- 
ing under their shadow, 
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his 

vision. 
Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted 

his eyelids, 
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by 

his bedside. 
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 

accents unuttered 
Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what 

his tongue would have spoken. » 



88 EVANGELINE 

Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneel- 
ing beside him, 

Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 
bosom. 

Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly 
sank into darkness, 

As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at 
a casement. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and 
the sorrow, 

All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied long- 
ing, 

All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 
patience ! 

And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to 
her bosom, 

Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, " Fa- 
ther, I thank thee ! " 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away 
from its shadow, 

Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers 
are sleeping. 

Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 
churchyard, 

In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and un- 
noticed. 

Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside 
them, 



PART THE SECOND 89 

Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at 
rest and forever, 

Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer 
are busy, 

Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 
ceased from their labors, 

Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have com- 
pleted their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the 

shade of its branches 
Dwells another race, with other customs and lan- 
guage. 
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 

Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from 

exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in its 

bosom. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are 

still busy ; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their 

kirtles of homespun, 
And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's story, 
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, 

neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 

wail of the forest. 



NOTES 



NOTES 

Page 1, line 3. Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad 
and prophetic. Perhaps the choice of the image was gov- 
erned by the analogy of a religion and tribe that were to 
disappear before a stronger power. 

Page 2, line 8. List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of 
the happy. In the earliest records Acadie is called Cadie; 
it afterwards was called Arcadia, Aceadia, or L' Acadie. 
The name is probably a French adaptation of a word com- 
mon among the Micmac Indians living there, signifying 
place or region, and used as an affix to other words as in- 
dicating the place where various things, as cranberries, eels, 
seals, were found in abundance. The French turned this 
Indian term into Cadie or Acadie ; the English into Quoddy, 
in which form it remains when applied to the Quoddy In- 
dians, to Quoddy Head, the last point of the United States 
next to Acadia, and in the compound Passamaquoddy, or 
Pollock-Ground. 

Page 2, line 13. Bikes, that the hands of the farmers had 
raised with labor incessant. " The people of Acadia are mainly 
the descendants of the colonists who were brought out to 
La Have and Port Royal by Isaac de Razilly and Charnisay 
between the years 1633 and 1638. These colonists came 
from Rochelle, Saintonge, and Poitou, so that they were 
drawn from a very limited area on the west coast of France, 
covered by the modern departments of Vendue and Charente 
Infe'rieure. This circumstance had some influence on their 
mode of settling the lands of Acadia, for they came from a 
country of marshes, where the sea was kept out by artificial 
dikes, and they found in Acadia similar marshes, which 
they dealt with in the same way that they had been accus- 
tomed to practise in France." Hannay's History of Acadia t 
pp. 282, 283. 



94 NOTES 

Page 3, line 5. Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft 
on the mountains. Blomidon is a mountainous headland of 
red sandstone, surmounted by a perpendicular wall of basal- 
tic trap, the whole about four hundred feet in height, at the 
entrance of the Basin of Minas. 

Page 3, line 9. Strongly built were the houses, with frames 
of oak and of hemlock. In the first edition Longfellow wrote : 

" Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of chest- 
nut." 

Page 9, line 15. Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns 
going into the chapel. The French have another saying simi- 
lar to this, that they were guests going in to the wedding. 

Page 10, line 5. Lucky was he who found that stone in the 
nest of the swallow ! In Pluquet's Contes Populaires we are 
told that if one of a swallow's young is blind the mother 
bird seeks on the shore of the ocean a little stone, with which 
she restores its sight ; and he adds, "He who is fortunate 
enough to find that stone in a swallow's nest holds a won- 
derful remedy." Pluquet's book treats of Norman super- 
stitions and popular traits. 

Page 10, line 10. "Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she 
called. Pluquet also gives this proverbial saying : — 

" Si le soleil rit le jour Sainte-Eulalie, 
II y aura pommes et cidre a folic' ' 

(If the sun smiles on Saint Eulalie' s day, there will be 
plenty of apples, and cider enough.) 

Saint Eulalie's day is the 12th of February. 

Page 11, line 10. Called by the pious Acadian peasants the 
Summer of all Saints. The Summer of All-Saints is our 
Indian Summer, All-Saints Day being November 1st. The 
French also give this season the name of Saint Martin's 
Summer, Saint Martin's Day being November 11th. 

Page 12, line 5. Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian 
adorned with mantles and jewels. Herodotus, in his account 
of Xerxes' expedition against Greece, tells of a beautiful 
plane-tree which Xerxes found, and was so enamored with 



NOTES 95 

that he dressed it as one might a woman, and placed it un- 
der the care of a guardsman (vii. 31) . Another writer, Julian, 
improving on this, says he adorned it with a necklace and 
bracelets. 

Page 13, line 13. Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud 
and in regular cadence. There is a charming milkmaid's 
song in Tennyson's drama of Queen Mary, Act III., Scene 5, 
where the streaming of the milk into the sounding pails is 
caught in the tinkling Jc's of such lines as 

"And you came and kissed me, milking the cow." 

Page 14, line 1. Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the 
valves of the barn-doors. In the first edition — 

"Heavily closed, with a creaking sound, the valves of the barn 
doors." 

Page 17, line 5. Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau 
Sijour, nor Port Royal. Louisburg, on Cape Breton, was 
built by the French as a military and naval station early in 
the eighteenth century, but was taken by an expedition 
from Massachusetts under General Pepperell in 1745. It 
was restored by England to France in the treaty of Aix-la- 
Chapelle, and recaptured by the English in 1757. Beau 
Se^jour was a French fort upon the neck of land connect- 
ing Acadia with the mainland which had just been cap- 
tured by Winslow's forces. Port Royal, afterwards called 
Annapolis Royal, at the outlet of Annapolis River into the 
Bay of Fundy, had been disputed ground, being occupied 
alternately by French and English, but in 1710 was 
attacked by an expedition from New England, and after 
that held by the English government and made a fortified 
place. 

Page 19, line 5. For he told them tales of the Loup-garou 
in the forest. The Loup-garou, or were-wolf, is, according 
to an old superstition especially prevalent in France, a man 
with power to turn himself into a wolf, which he does that 
he may devour children. In later times the superstition 
passed into the more innocent one of men having a power 
to charm wolves. 



96 NOTES 

Page 19, line 7. And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a 
child who unchristened. Pluquet relates this superstition, 
and conjectures that the white, fleet ermine gave rise to it. 

Page 19, lines 9-10. And how on Christmas eve the oxen 
talked in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider 
shut up in a nutshell. A belief still lingers among the peas- 
antry of England, as well as on the Continent, that at mid- 
night, on Christmas eve, the cattle in the stalls fall down 
on their knees in adoration of the infant Saviour, as the 
old legend says was done in the stable at Bethlehem. 

In like manner a popular superstition prevailed in Eng- 
land that ague could be cured by sealing a spider in a goose- 
quill and hanging it about the neck. 

Page 26, line 11. Every house was an inn, where all were 
welcomed and feasted. " Real misery was wholly unknown, 
and benevolence anticipated the demands of poverty. Every 
misfortune was relieved as it were before it could be felt, 
without ostentation on the one hand, and without mean- 
ness on the other. It was, in short, a societ)' of brethren, 
every individual of which was equally ready to give and 
to receive what he thought the common right of man- 
kind." — From the Abbe - Raynal's account of the Aca- 
dians. The Abbe Guillaume Thomas Francis Raynal was 
a French writer (1711-1796), who published A Philosophi- 
cal History of the Settlements and Trade of the Europeans 
in the East and West Indies, in which he included also 
some account of Canada and Nova Scotia. His picture of 
life among the Acadians, somewhat highly colored, is the 
source from which after writers have drawn their know- 
ledge of Acadian manners. 

Page 27, line 12. Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le 
Carillon de Dunkerque. Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres was 
a song written by Ducauroi, maitre de chapelle of Henri IV., 
the words of which are : — 

Vous connaissez Cybele, You remember Cybele, 

Qui sut fixer le Temps ; Wise the seasons to unfold ; 

On la disait fort belle, Very fair, said men, was she, 

Mime dans ses vieux ans. Even when her years grew old. 



NOTES 



97 



CHOBUS. 

Cette divinity, quoique deja 
grand'mere, 
Avait les yeux doux, le teint 

frais, 
Avait meme certains attraits 
Fermes comme la Terre. 



CHORUS. 

A grandame, yet by goddess 
birth 
She kept sweet eyes, a color 

warm, 
And held through every- 
thing a charm 
Fast like the earth. 

Le Carillon de Dunherque was a popular song to a tune 
played on the Dunkirk chimes. The words are : — 
Le Carillon de Dunkerque. 
Imprudent, te"me"raire 
A l'instant, je l'espere 
Dans mon juste courroux, 



Tu vas tomber sous mes coups ! 

— Je brave ta menace. 

— Etre moi ! quelle audace ! 
Avance done, poltron ! 
Tu trembles ? non, non, non. 

— J'etouffe de colere ! 
— Je ris de ta colere. 



The Carillon of Dunkirk. 
Reckless and rash, 
Take heed for the flash 
Of mine anger, 't is just 



To lay thee with its blows in the 
dust. 

— Your threat I defy. 

— What ! You would be I ! 
Come, coward ! I '11 show — 
You tremble ? No, no ! 

— I 'm choking with rage 1 

— A fig for your rage ! 



The music to which the old man sang these songs will be 
found in La Cle du Caveau, by Pierre Capelle, Nos. 564 
and 739. Paris : A. Cotelle. 

Page 28, line 15. "You are convened this day," he said, 
"by his Majesty 1 s orders." Colonel Winslow has preserved 
in his Diary the speech which he delivered to the assembled 
Acadians, and it is copied by Haliburton in his History of 
Nova Scotia, i. 166, 167. 

Page 41, line 3. " We shall behold no more our homes in the 
village of Grand-Pre ! " The burning of the houses was in 
accordance with the instructions of the Governor to Colonel 
Winslow, in case he should fail in collecting all the inhabit- 
ants : " You must proceed by the most vigorous measures 
possible, not only in compelling them to embark, but in 
depriving those who shall escape of all means of shelter or 
support, by burning their houses and by destroying every- 



98 NOTES 

thing that may afford them the means of subsistence in the 
country." 

Page 46, line 5. Coureurs-des-bois are they, and famous 
hunters and trappers. The coureurs-des-bois formed a class 
of men, very early in Canadian history, produced by the 
exigencies of the fur-trade. They were French by birth, but 
by long affiliation with the Indians and adoption of their 
customs had become half-civilized vagrants, whose chief 
vocation was conducting the canoes of the traders along the 
lakes and rivers of the interior. Bushrangers is the English 
equivalent. They played an important part in the Indian 
wars, but were nearly as lawless as the Indians themselves. 
The reader will find them frequently referred to in Park- 
man's histories, especially in The Conspiracy of Pontiac, 
The Discovery of the Great West, and Frontenac and New 
France under Louis XIV. 

Page 46, line 13. Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. 
Catherine's tresses. St. Catherine of Alexandria and St. 
Catherine of Siena were both celebrated for their vows of 
virginity. Hence the saying to braid St. Catherine's tresses, 
of one devoted to a single life. 

Page 49, line 2. On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of 
fair Opelousas. Between the 1st of January and the 13th 
of May, 1765, about six hundred and fifty Acadians had 
arrived at New Orleans. Louisiana had been ceded by 
France to Spain in 1762, but did not really pass under the 
control of the Spanish until 1769. The existence of a French 
population attracted the wandering Acadians, and they were 
sent by the authorities to form settlements in Attakapas 
and Opelousas. They afterward formed settlements on both 
sides of the Mississippi from the German Coast up to Baton 
Rouge, and even as high as Pointe Couple. Hence the 
name of Acadian Coast, which a portion of the banks of the 
river still bears. See Gayare^s History of Louisiana : The 
French Dominion, vol. ii. 

Page 73, line 14. Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who 
was wooed by a phantom. The story of Lilinau and other 



NOTES 99 

Indian legends will be found in H. R. Schoolcraft's Algic 
Researches. 

Page 78, line 7. This is the compass-flower, that the finger 
of God has planted. Silphium laciniatum or compass-plant 
is found on the prairies of Michigan and Wisconsin and 
to the south and west, and is said to present the edges of 
the lower leaves due north and south. 

Page 79, line 13. Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek 
Moravian Missions, A rendering of the Moravian Gnaden- 
hiitten. 

Page 83, line 7. Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell 
on the city. The year 1793 was long remembered as the 
year when yellow fever was a terrible pestilence in Phila- 
delphia. Charles Brockden BrowD made his novel of Arthur 
Mervyn turn largely upon the incidents of the plague, which 
drove Brown away from home for a time. 

Page 84, line 1. Crept away to die in the almshouse, home 
of the homeless. Philadelphians have identified the old 
Friends' almshouse on Walnut Street, now no longer stand- 
ing, as that in which Evangeline ministered to Gabriel, and 
so real was the story that some even ventured to point out 
the graves of the two lovers. See Westcott's The Historic 
Mansions of Philadelphia, pp. 101, 102. 

Page 85, line 5. Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the 
Swedes in their church at Wicaco. The Swedes' church at 
Wicaco is still standing, the oldest in the city of Philadel- 
phia, having been begun in 1698. Wicaco is within the city, 
on the banks of the Delaware River. An interesting ac- 
count of the old church and its historic associations will be 
found in Westcott's book just mentioned, pp. 56-67. Wilson 
the ornithologist lies buried in the churchyard adjoining the 
church. 



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